


Tumblr Drabbles and Ficlets

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ainur - Freeform, Beauty - Freeform, Black Speech, Blasphemy, Blood, Dominance/submission, Foreplay, Genetics, Heresy, Horror, Hunting, Love, M/M, Maiar, Melkor is a son of a bitch, Melkor is clueless, Meta, Naked Cuddling, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some meta, Soul Bond, The Seduction of Mairon, Tumblr Shorts, Vala/maia, Valar - Freeform, Violence, angbang, power, the creation of Arda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Angbang stuff I posted on Tumblr, all in one place for your convenience.Tags would be updated!





	1. ... in which Melkor is a smug bitch

Inspired by this lovely [drawing](https://nalfran.tumblr.com/post/168360938011) by [nalfran](https://nalfran.tumblr.com/).

***

 

Melkor leaned back luxuriously into the silken cushions. Mairon was draped all over him, exhausted after hours of pleasure. He could feel his soft breath tickle his collarbones – the Maia was already fast asleep, but Melkor was not tired at all. Instead, he played with Mairon’s glistening hair. It was so soft and supple as he wrapped it round and round his fingers, like rings of pure, enchanted gold. So easy to manipulate, so easy to control with a single, well-placed tug. Just like the spirit himself. 

Of course, it wasn’t always so easy. Mairon fought him off for much longer than Melkor originally anticipated, being so strong and true to his Creator. His struggle only made Melkor want him more. The Vala recalled how he stalked Mairon, playing with his feelings, twisting and corrupting his originally-innocent desire for order and the glory of Arda. He taught him things none of the other Valar would, things that fed Mairon’s spirit just the wrong – or the _right_ – kind of flames, and how he hungered for knowledge! Melkor separated him from the rest of his kin by carefully-instilled mistrust until, lonely and unable to tell truth from lie anymore, Mairon succumbed to him. Melkor snickered as a vision of the stubborn Mairon finally dropping to his knees and swearing an oath bloomed before him again in all its sweet, sweet victory.

His laughter caused Mairon to stir in his sleep and press passionate, sleepy kisses to his chest. Melkor rewarded him by rubbing his ear. Yes, of course, that was the best part of it: over the years, Mairon developed _feelings_ for him, feelings much deeper and dirtier than a Maia’s simple attachment to its Vala. It made him even easier to control, not just because Mairon lusted after his approval with uncommon fervor, but because betrayal was now impossible: Mairon could not do to him what he did to Aulë, his soul was so profoundly changed by Discord and Love that it would accept no other master. Even if he broke his Soul Bond with Melkor, he would need another Vala to take him in, or he’d perish like any Disowned Maia. And who, pray, would take _him_?

He could flee back to Valinor and beg someone to take him. None of the important ones will agree to take such damaged goods, of course. But perhaps the weak Vána would be desperate enough for another follower… Melkor stifled a laugh when he imagined Mairon prancing in the fields, flowers in his hair, forced to sing the praises of his pretty lady. No, that won’t ever do. Mairon was his now, forever bound to serve him and him alone. He could never be free of him.

And so Melkor lie and gloated over his beautiful, helplessly bound golden treasure, entirely oblivious of the fact that while his Maia truly was bound by unseverable bonds, so was he himself. The same cords wrapped around his own heart, invisible yet hardier than Angainor itself. He would learn it later, when it would be much too late. But that bitterness was still far away, lost in the dim clouds of the unknown future. No fear could chill the mind of the Black Foe of Arda, not while his best Flame was there with him to light it, wrapped so snugly in his clutching arms.


	2. ... in which Melkor speaks in tongues

Mairon loves the way Black Speech sounds on Melkor’s tongue. It was one of the first independent projects his Lord let him occupy his spare time with. He worked so hard carving the language from the minds and tongues of their slaves, keying it to certain parts of their tortured brains, and polishing it to the highest luster. And now, standing beside him on the parapet as the Lord addresses his armies before battle, he looks up at him in awe and admiration: the words he invented are given a new life and power only a Vala can bestow. They gush out of him like the darkest and thickest mud, distilled into sheer command, manipulating and controlling the troops. The Orcs respond immediately, mechanically, driven into a senseless blood lust and hate for the speaker’s enemies. Mairon shivers with pleasure, feeling each word as if it were directed at him. The muddy current intensifies and rises to flood all Arda, and then the fortress gates fall open.


	3. Melkor’s light

The Valar are luminous beings. Melkor is no different in this aspect, but while the rest of his siblings emit light that is visible to Incarnate eyes, Melkor glows ultra-violet. This ungentle light promotes rapid mutation and change - which might be turned to both good and evil.

But the Children of Ilúvatar cannot see it, cannot comprehend the full potential of such a force. This is why Melkor is called the Dark One and is feared and loathed.

This is also why Mairon, who sees Melkor as he is, worships him to the brink of blindness and madness. His Lord is the Black Sun, brilliant and so generous with his unique power. And if the Children do not see it, then he would  **make** them see.


	4. Are Melkor and Mairon beautiful?

The Valar and Maiar are spirits that were created before Creation and helped build everything we see around us. As such, they did not inherit abstract concepts, like good and evil or beauty and ugliness, from their surroundings – they had to create their own. The primary source for creating those concepts is the Music.

The Music defines not just Matter and the circles of Eä, but also the Spirits of its singers. Therefore each of the Ainur has a slightly different idea of goodness and beauty, depending on their own piece of music. The good Ainur share a very similar view of the world, as they all sang Eru’s themes. It can also be said about the bad ones: those who sang their versions of Melkor’s Discord have their own ideas, unlike those of the Faithful but still coherent. Unlike those led by Manwë, they do not see goodness as equaling whichever promotes life and benefits the Children of Ilúvatar. Instead they value change, strength, a merry entropy and order blooming from the heart of Chaos.

The same applies to beauty: while the Valinorians admire the looks and arts of the Children as the standard for beauty, Melkor and his folk view other things as beautiful. For instance, it is said that Umaiarin spirits stink, especially when disembodied. It is true, for Human nostrils. But if you ask Melkor, Mairon’s heady aroma of volcano gases, smoke, and melting metal is the best in all of Angband. So is Melkor’s scent of Ozone and rot which drives Mairon crazy with lust. And while both like dressing up in the mockery of the fair form of an Elven prince, no Elda would mistake Melkor or Mairon for beautiful unless they explicitly try to appear so: they are bestial, spewing darkness and cruelty to a level which obscures the smooth skin and shining hair they wear, and no silken veils or bright Silmarils could hide it.

So no, **we** would not find them attractive, but they love each other, and that’s what counts. ;-)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tl;dr: Mairon smells like farts and Melkor loves it.


	5. The Soul Bond

I like to think of the Valar and their Maiar as sharing a sort of symbiotic spiritual bond of Ownership/Belonging:

Having a spiritual bond with a Vala anchors the Maia and lets them receive energy from the Vala, while better understanding the Vala’s will so they could serve them better and fulfill their purpose. It’s a kind of energy exchange without which the Maia would drift away and spiritually starve. They yearn for this connection to a Vala and derive fierce soul pleasure out of it. In a way, the Vala's soul is also nurtured by the act, as it gains more control and ability to serve its Purpose.

A Vala would Claim a Maia by engulfing their soul with their own spirit, reaching into it and marking it as their own. It’s best done in close range, like in an embrace (or during sex, if you’re Melkor and are feeling extra generous). The connection is maintained by continuous closeness and interaction between the Vala and the Maia, although some reinforcement might be needed from time to time.

The act of Ownership is usually very pleasurable for the Maia, but might also hurt, especially if it wasn't performed for an extended period of time, or if the Vala is strong and not very gentle with the Maia's little soul (ehm ehm Melkor). 

Same goes for the Valar: they need their spiritual bond with Eru, without which they would starve.

So what happens when you don’t have a Lord/Lady to sustain you and give you purpose?

Eru Disowned Melkor because of his actions (something that the Vala still secretly mourns), so he became his own Lord. He was powerful enough to go on like this for a long while, but even he degraded until he was eventually consumed. Mairon could go on after Melkor was taken away from him because Melkor never Disowned him, and because he created the Ring – a powerful lens of power which sustained him. It’s not like having a Vala, but it would do until the Lord breaks his bonds and returns.


	6. About Mairon’s Sex Life

No earthly pleasure can compare with the love and utter devotion Mairon has for Melkor, and certainly no soul pleasure known to either Ainu or Child of Eru. But Melkor is a volatile, mad god and doesn't always have time or desire to spare for his favorite Maia, so Mairon has to do without.

Therefore Mairon likes to have toys to play with and keep him sated. For this purpose he usually keeps several slaves chained to his bed to… tender, the way hunters hang fine meats to age and soften. After all, it’s amazing what several days of no food and water would do to an Incarnate’s willingness to cooperate, and when he is through with them… 

Well, it  _is_  important to let wolves chew on harder meats occasionally, to keep their teeth sharp and clean! And Mairon always did like his wolf form.


	7. The first time Mairon saw Melkor

The first time Mairon saw Melkor was in the Timeless Halls. The Maia was standing close behind Aulë, so he could see more of what was happening in the inner circle of the Valar than any of his weaker siblings. Melkor blinded him with his glory. Mairon battled the contradicting emotions that rose in him in result. He had to look away.

The second time was many eons later, on Arda. Mairon watched as the Vala descended onto the half formed island of Matter the Ainur were shaping for so long in the emptiness: he was majestic, radiating power in annihilating levels. And that’s when disaster first struck.

Melkor’s mere presence rent the fragile bonds that Mairon's master and the Lady Varda fashioned to keep particles together, tossing them into a brilliant ribbon that spiraled around the gravity well of Melkor’s soul and flashed ever brighter in the dark when its Light touched it. After spending so much time in Eä, forging it and being forged by it, Mairon's mind became more solid and his memory of the Halls grew dim. Yet a shock of recognition seemed to pass through him and with it a sense of wonder. He couldn't dwell on the feeling, though, as a commotion rose all around him, his siblings all rushing to re-tether the glowing snake of Matter and place it again in the location selected for it. He turned away from Melkor and followed them, fearful for his precious work.

Melkor expressed his remorse and helped with the frustrating binding process. The bonds were stronger now and would not rip so easily. Mairon rejoiced, looking at the newcomer with appreciation. Of course, Melkor wasn't so cooperative anymore once he learned that, in his absence, his brother assumed kingship over Arda, but by then the damage was done:

Mairon could never tear his gaze away from him again.


	8. Of Love and Power

Unlike the beliefs and practices of good Ainur, Melkor and Mairon view power and love in a very rigid, black-and-white manner: the master is the one who wields the power, and by it subdues lesser beings to his will. It is the prerogative of a master to treat his servants as he sees fit, dealing out justice with whatever cruelty he deems necessary. So power is a thing that flows downwards.

Love, on the other hand, is the obligation of a servant to their master. It stems from recognizing power and glory, and you can’t love something that’s beneath you. Therefore, love is a thing that flows strictly upwards.

As a result, Mairon accepts Melkor’s rule whole-heartedly and without complaint: he is a Maia, meaning, he exists solely as a servant and a tool for his chosen Vala by his very _nature_. He is expected to obey at all times and is punished for his misdeeds. Being a perfectionist and a control-freak, he’s completely fine with it and would have it no other way, that’s the correct order of things. Also, this is how he treats his own subjects and inferiors, both as Melkor’s Lieutenant and as a lord on his own accord – he’s the boss and you’d better kneel, bitches.

As for love: every Maia loves their Vala and so knows that he/she is the one they must serve. It’s a banal, impersonal thing, more a pattern of attachment than a real emotion like that of Incarnates. Mairon adores and worships Melkor because he is akin to him, because Melkor lets him grow and fulfill his potential and desires, and because it is so doomed – or that’s what he tells himself. In truth, his love has grown personal over the years, and now he truly is in love with him - a "real" emotion, the same way Incarnates might feel for each other. But! He expects no love in return, because love can only go up, and Melkor is his superior. What would make him happy is that Melkor would accept his love and be pleased with him.

But theory and reality are not always the same: despite the fact that after his initial corruption Melkor became an evil, egotistical tyrant who rules with an iron fist, Mairon never gets treated quite the same way as anyone else. He is not treated gently, of course, far from it, but his punishments are more lenient, his freedom to act according to his own wisdom much greater. So in a way, he’s got some power of his own, despite being a very limited one: the power to somewhat alter a Vala’s actions. It gets even messier if you consider that although Melkor would never admit it even to himself (at least, not before it's much too late), he harbours some secret love for his best and shiniest Maia. But this, too, is a subtle feeling, one that isn’t expressed or acknowledged. From this – contrast stems, tensing up to potentially release a deluge of emotions, all cruel and hot and confusing.


	9. The Necromancer

It was Melkor who first taught him.

He showed it to him, balanced on the palm of his hand: the double helix of Life, shining with fragments of the Flame Imperishable. The sparks illuminated the deep dungeon, dancing on its polished obsidian walls and glancing off the Vala’s frosty features. Melkor showed him how to move the tiny beads the spiral consisted of, creating new meanings and shapes. Unlike his former master, Melkor required no tools to work the spiral. For him it was a language he was fluent in: his Song smote the ties that bound the beads together, and the harsh Light of his soul pushed them from their path to where he desired them to be. The Elf underneath his hand screamed in pain, shuddering and twisting as his bones tore through his translucent skin, as his blood blackened and congealed into poison. Hours of work passed until a different kind of creature stared up at the two Ainur, its eyes empty as the starless Void. Melkor leaned over and kissed its forehead, lighting a new fire in the creature’s eyes. One of Eru’s loathsome Children, finally made worthy.

Awed, Mairon couldn’t tear his gaze away. He kissed the hands that taught him. He promised he would provide.

But try as he did, Mairon was not as fluent in the Language of Life as his Lord was. His tongue stumbled over the syllables of the Song and the heat of his soul was not sufficient to negate the influence of Eru’s Flame. His hands needed tools, but no scalpel and no needle he could create were fine enough to penetrate the depths of the spiral. He resorted to cruder tools instead, hammering and stitching together pieces of flesh and soul. It was good, reusing meat that would otherwise fester and rot. Melkor was not entirely satisfied with the results, and it stung the Maia’s soul. It drove him to work harder, to push further. Eventually he would succeed. He must.

Necromancer the Elves called him and were afraid, for he harvested souls and hoarded them for his uses, like a farmer herding cattle, or like Námo. But the dungeons of Angband were no peaceful Mandos – they were a flaming Purgatory, a churning and grinding machine manufacturing creatures for the Vala’s army. Werewolves he made and snake-people, sentient mushrooms and needle-toothed cats: spies, steeds, warriors. The souls he planted within them – either fëar or ealar – rebelled at first, but he soon learned how to quell them. They were not as powerful as Melkor’s Urulóki or as resourceful as his Orcs, but they made do. And when he bowed to present his Lord with his best creation yet – the Werewolf Draugluin – his master was finally, finally, pleased.

He continued using the skills he learned from him long after his Lord was no more and his army lay in ruins. No longer able to utilize the Vala’s life-mimicking energy in his work, he moved on to different methods: metal, he found, was particularly conductive for the leashing of fëar, and nothing worked better than gold.

Great kings he captured with that darkest metal, laughing bitterly as their kingdoms crumbled to dust and ivy while they themselves withered in their bondage into mere wraiths. His glee was so profound that at first he did not notice his own chaining, his own spirit’s enslavement – but didn’t this happen a long time ago, really, when he first forsook Light and his Maker for the requirements of flesh and blood – and love? The creeping of the chains was slow, yes, but they fastened around him at last. And when they did – a mere Child of the Earth could destroy him with the bend of a small, crooked finger.

And he was lost, yes, lost, nothing more than a flicker of shadow, sighing mournfully as the world changed around it, as mountains crumbled down with age and seas dried. But what little cognition left to him was filled with waiting. For one day, he still knew, thunder would fill the empty sky and a voice would cry his old name, loud enough for the entire world to hear and shudder. Would he be strong enough then to tether the Great Spirit that comes back to claim what’s his? What remained of the former Necromancer did not know. All he had was hope, but, then again, wasn’t Hope just a different kind of soul-chain?


	10. On Maiarin Obedience and the Sweetness It Can Give a Noble Soul

In the early days after Mairon first joined Melkor, he tried disobeying him. Just once.

He was punished, of course, immediately and ruthlessly. 

This made him very happy: finally he had a strong, worthy master. Melkor was nothing like the spineless Aulë who’d turn a blind eye to his people’s antics and misdemeanors, leading them astray with his weakling notions of “pity”. Instead Melkor was a rock, someone he could lean on and trust that he would never be allowed to fall. 

And like molten gold pouring into a mold, so did Mairon cast himself in his idol’s likeness, until later generations could barely tell the two apart.

 

*

Sometimes Mairon puts up a fight in bed, thrashing and kicking and trying to escape. Not enough to offend his master, of course, just enough to… excite him. After all, there’s nothing Melkor likes better than setting his teeth to hot-blooded, struggling prey. For what glory is there in subduing cold, dead meat?

And when he is pinned down, clutched by harder-than-steel fingers and knees that leave livid bruises on his fána and tied by fuligin hair wrapping like snakes all around him, Mairon can do nothing but gaze into the snarling face above him and tremble with pleasure. He always did love beautiful predators.


	11. The ëala is much stronger than the fana.

See Melkor's court at Utumno. See the Balrog guard surrounding the Vala's throne: those gigantic demon-beasts, those mountains made of burning-iron muscles and merciless brutality. See the barbed whips of fire twitching in their clawed hands. Hear their bellows shaking the subterranean halls. See them cower and tremble before the throne. 

Now look at the throne and at the one who sits upon it: he is half their height and a fraction of their bulk. He is dressed in soft velvets and furs and carries no weapons in his bejewelled hands. Have you noticed that the gargantuan Balrogs always lift their gaze when reporting? Try to peer yourself into his eyes.

Do you understand now?

(Mairon, forever the devout servant, always chose smaller fanar when around his master. True power can allow itself some playfulness.)


	12. God

It was deep beneath stone, beneath ice, beneath iron. The Sun and the Moon were not yet set in the sky to dictate the passage of time, and still the hour hung late on the fortress in the North of the world. It was then that Mairon - so close, so hot! - first called him _God_. Melkor laughed at his devotion, of course, and mock-chided him for his heresy. Did he truly dare to attach this name, holy of holies, to one who was not the One, to one who was created not long before he himself was? But there was no swaying those swollen, bruised lips from their prayer, their feverish kisses. And when Melkor looked into the Maia’s darkened eyes, he saw inside something that surprised him greatly: there was a fire among the shadows, an irrational glint which contradicted his Lieutenant’s usual level-headed cool. There was a seed of madness buried deep inside the Maia, waiting to be exploited by a cruel enough master.

And Fate did.


	13. Predator/prey

“You really think you could outrun me?”

Again that spark flashed in Mairon’s eyes. “Yes,” he lied, sticking his chin up just a little. A small challenge, born most likely of the proximity of the Vala’s body looming over his in that shadowy corridor. A tiny friction of need, crowding out all sense of self preservation.

Melkor felt a smile stretch slowly across his face. “Very well, little Maia. Let’s play.” His smile widened as his jaws filled with countless knife-sharp teeth, his fingers lengthening into black talons. He traced the curve of one freckled cheek, drawing blood, and licked his claw. Mairon gasped in true fear now. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

Mairon didn’t even bother changing fánar: he turned and bolted with unnatural speed and agility, leaping around corners and bouncing off walls as he fled down, down into the lightless labyrinth of caves at the roots of the fortress.

Melkor waited until the hammering of his boots dwindled in the distance before he began walking after him. It didn’t really matter how fast the Maia ran or how well he could hide: Melkor would always find him. No one knew his domain better than he did, and none save one of his siblings had his particular penchant for hunting. And besides, the invisible leash that bound the lesser spirit to him was unbreakable – one firm tug and wherever he was, the Maia would be flung right back into his waiting arms. Melkor could already imagine him, kneeling on the stone floor of some dead end he was slowly and patiently driven into: his face would be a distorted study in terror, all eyes and mouth gaping, searching for some way out that didn’t exist. He could almost hear his heart beating an insane staccato, smell his heady mixture of sweat and stress and arousal. Caught, bound prey, ready to be devoured.  

Melkor licked his lips. This was going to be a very fine meal indeed.


End file.
